


Lives lived in shadow

by violent_woman66



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: I'm Bad At Tagging, John Watson's Blog, Points of View
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-07 02:34:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17357282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violent_woman66/pseuds/violent_woman66
Summary: John tries something new for his blog, and meets some of the people who move cases along before Sherlock blows in.(I'm really no good at summaries)





	Lives lived in shadow

Sherlock is not mine, nor do I make any profits form this work. The only bits I claim are the spelling and grammar mistakes, I may blame my cat for those.  
I started typing only because the cursor was blinking and an old teacher once told me that if the blank page is staring at you draw a line on it and go from there. By the end I had this little story, hope you like it and if not that's okay as well.

 

John Watson hated blank pages, it was how every story he had ever written started. What he hated more was an extremely bored Sherlock Holmes.  
Four weeks without a case had left the kitchen a bio-hazard, the bathroom a complete 'no-go' zone and the main living area a proverbial maze of paperwork that only Sherlock could understand the logic behind. Watson had fled the apartment after two weeks of rotting flesh experiments and as a consequence had been enlisted to give medical help the homeless and destitute that haunted the streets of London.

Finally, finally after six weeks Sherlock had a case and Watson was free to return to his cluttered but much loved home. While the best friends were out chasing clues and bad guys Mycroft had a team of very discreet people once again clean up any and all dangerous or Illegal bits and bobs that had been carelessly strewn about the place including one IED.  
After the case was solved and the guilty party was set to see the judge Sherlock hauled his tired frame to his room to collapse heavily on his bed and Watson sat down at his laptop, with cuppa cooling nearby, to nut out what had transpired since the flurry of activity had began.However as he stared at the blank computer screen before him all Watson could think about was the homeless network that Sherlock utilized so often. During his time of forced exile Watson had fully witness what these people had to endure on a day to day basis and now he felt that he could understand in some small way why these random individuals were willing to do so much of the foot work that Sherlock was unwilling or unable to do himself, all for just a few dollars.  
Thinking of the homeless network led Watson to thinking of all the different people that Sherlock either relied on or belittled to get where he needed to solve a case, all in the hopes of getting the high he so desperately desired. These people that had such pivotal rolls in the addiction that was the life of William Sherlock Holmes, they always seemed to be in the back ground of the story never given the credit they were due for all the important work they did that ultimately solved the toughest cases.

Decision made Watson abandoned his laptop and cold tea to head out in search of a different angle on the usual story of murder and mayhem.  
Watson's first stop was the patrol men that had happened upon the victim , it had been a normal day for them right up until the dead guy in the fountain.  
Officer Bradly Sparks and Officer Alex Dunn had been patrolling by foot for a good part of the morning before stopping for a quick bite. As the night life was headed to their beds and the workers and family's were starting to make an appearance the two officers felt that it was a perfect time to rest and eat, unfortunately for them as they walked out of the cafe the floating body in the small fountain in the center of the paved walk way became more than apparent. It fell to Dunn to check the body for signs of life, on inspection the man was cold and stiff, too far gone for re-sus. Calls were made and the scene secured for those further along the protocol chain Sparks and Dunn waited to be relieved before resuming their patrol, the paper work would wait until the end of the shift when they would return to base for hand over. So when over a week later when approached by a Dr John Watson the two were happy to answer any questions he had, especially after the Doctor offered to buy them breakfast.

From there Watson met with a small team of forensic experts who had done their job with well practiced ease of people who were use to being ignored by everyone else that was required to crowed any crime scene.  
For this small group of people it was just another day at work. Suit up in the white paper coveralls with the hoods up, white paper booties incase they stepped on something of use, then they donned the white gloves that made the hands sweet prune by the end of the job and finally face masked that made them all appear to be the same person. They would stand in a small group holding cases at the ready before they were summoned to photograph, collect, bag and label everything they could find that might find out why the body had ended up dead in a fountain. Watson was able to meet this group as they moved from one scene to the next, once he had explained what he was doing and why each member became willing to share their part of the story.

Next came the ME, one Molly Hooper, after the evidence was taken from the scene she would dig deeper and find what the body could add to the growing pile of facts and figures.  
The main advantage John had when he interviewed her was the friendship the two shared from working together so many times before. As a doctor himself John had a fair idea of what Molly did to aid the investigation but what he learned about her efforts for those left behind in the aftermath had him really seeing the shyly brilliant woman in a new light. After she had done what was necessary for the case Molly would take the time to close the body as neatly as her skilled fingers could then she would brush their hair and wash the victims face so that when the family or friend would come claim what was left of their loved one the shock and pain would be slightly lessened.

Once Molly was through with her part and all was scrubbed clean of the violence that would bring this team of random people together, Lestrade would take his turn putting all the facts that he had been entrusted with together to form a picture of the victims last days on earth.  
Greg Lestrade would then compile lists of people and places he believed would help solve the puzzle that was murder. People questioned, places scoped and searched and surveillance footage combed all the while Detective Lestrade took notes on everything he saw and heard. The harder the case was to solve the more meal Lestrade would miss in his unwillingness to waste a second that the perp could use to cover their tracks or flee from justice.  
After many days and a lot of hard work and long nights with little to no progress Lestrade would pull his tie askew and run finger though his hair to muss the silver strands before making the call to 221B Baker street. A very tired Lestrade explained his part to Watson while nursing a beer or two in the back booth of his favorite pub, For him the case was solved, paperwork complete and his superiors mollified that his consultant had done more good than harm in the grand scheme of it all.

And in would waltz Sherlock Holmes ever the bloody hero of his own story. After the usual snide remarks and huffing and puffing Sherlock would take the case (as if there was any doubt). Then the next group of people would move form the background to help Sherlock and Watson before once again fading into oblivion and out of the minds of those they help.  
After accepting the case Sherlock would rush out and speak to the cases (to him it was never a person just a distraction) friends and family, and of course they would knew nothing or be hiding some vital clue. 

Being left in one black Taxi after another time and time again John did not know the names or faces of those homeless helpers that fleeted too quickly in and out of Sherlocks life, Watson made his next stop a series of dark tunnels long abandoned by all but the lost and desperate, here he was determined to find out what type of information a fist full crumpled notes and a small amount of eye contact could buy. All he found were the same stories he heard while he worked to provide the free medical care to those most in need. These innumerable people were down on their luck, lost in their minds with no way back, over taken by the need to be lost in the drug of choice or simply running form some dark force in their old lives that was never truly forgotten. It was when Sherlock looked them in the eyes that these lost and forgotten felt more human than any other time, this was why they were so willing to help for what others (John included) felt was such a small price.  
Stinking of sweat, mud and despair Watson returned to Baker street where he met the one person even he, to his great shame, overlooked and took for granted more often than not.

Mrs Hudson, though deceptively in her strength was not to be mistaken for the men's maid or babysitter, yet she never failed to make them a tea when they were tired and worn, was strong when they were weak and always knew when the two needed piece and rest or a good chewing out. Watson was loath to admit that he cared for her more than his own sister with whom he had not spoken to in some time. However he would not be surprised if Mycroft had placed her in his little brothers life simply as a way of insuring that he always had someone to look after the absent minded man. It was Mrs Hudson that put food in the fridge when John was too tired or in too much pain to do it himself, It was Mrs Hudson showed clients where to wait and it was Mrs Hudson with her spine of steel that told Sherlock a firm "NO" when he crossed too many lines and trampled too many toes. 

In the three days it had taken Watson to track down and interview all those that had a hand in the case of the water logged man he had learned to see that which most of society had trained themselves to look at without really seeing. Interviews done and avenues taken Watson once again sat at his desk in front of his computer, the cursor again winking again at him from the blank screen taunting him with words not yet written. Sherlock oblivious to the taunting of that dam small line sat in his customary chair tying and undoing various knots in a well worn piece of rope. How was Watson to write this chapter of his blog when Sherlock was to be nothing but a minor character, this all encompassing man, whom had taken over almost the entirety of John life? All he had left of his own was the compassion that Sherlock seemed to be without, the ability to empathize with those that entrusted their health to his worn and calloused hands, but even John Watson himself wondered how long he would be able to hold his compassion separate from Sherlock's' lack of. Too many times a patient had lied at the wrong moment and caused their health to worsen or worse the health of the children in their charge, it was at these times Watson began to understand why his friend and room mate saw other humans the way he did.

After his words had ran themselves out and Watson was satisfied that the proper credit had been ladled out to all the men and women that played their rolls. He hit "Post" with a little more force than required. Sherlock had only fluttered in and out of each part of the story staying only long enough to cause a stir before hurrying of in a swirl of coat tails and yet when John next sat at his computer to write the next chapter of the great Sherlock Holmes the most read and enjoyed story to date was "The lives lived in shadows".

And yes Sherlock hated the title yet again, but didn't always hate the titles.


End file.
